Transience
Posted: Sat Apr 27, 2013 8:48 am
"When things go wrong... never stop doing what is right."
My father always used to say that, everytime when one of us was feeling down, or a little upset with life.
He was a disgraced detective, and I was a mute. It was he who accidentally took my voice, and it was I who lost a dear friend to a stray bullet.
My friend didn't die, he.. he lost his sight, and slowly.. his mind too.
He started forgetting things, Important things, ...he changed so much; it was as if we never met.
Anton-Babinski Syndrome, radical personality shifts, short tempers, ...i think the friend that i loved Did actually die.
The last time I saw him, at the entrance ceremony of his new school; he didn't even recognise my voice.
I stood alone amidst falling petals, quietly crying for the boy i used to love, as he disappears forever into the crowds of strangers.
My father tried to comfort me, as I try to think of the story about a letter, and how the special school 'Yamaku' got its name...
'Transience'
My grandfather sent me a photograph of the magical Japanese cherry blossoms, framing the iconic American monument in beautiful disbelief.
It was in 1912, when the Mayor of Tokyo gave the old majestic trees to Washington D.C., in celebration of international friendship.
But 30 years later; Pearl Harbour was attacked. Four of the trees were hatefully cut down. The Americans had to stop calling them 'Japanese' cherry blossoms, and suspend their own celebration of Hanami.
10 years later, after the war, my grandfather intercepted a letter in his 'black room' office, it was addressed to a 'Saki Enomoto'.
It was a sad story; the writer had come to America on a scholarship to study economics, and fell deeply in love with an ailing Saki, an American-Japanese born in an internment camp.
They tried to stay together in hiding, but they were found and forced apart. The writer was deported for violating the terms and visa, and Saki died on a breathing machine.
I think my father was haunted by that story, for the letter taking too long to reach Saki, and how many other stories must have met such an end, as cruel fate moves to silently withhold our desperate words.
"The desperate and the dead can't speak for themselves", maybe that's why he became a detective, and transferred to Japan. My grandfather was very unhappy that he left America, but my father wanted to find his peace, and the story that haunted him seemed to fade away with each successful case closed. I'm sure he was happy, when he met and married my mother, and I came into being in their arms.
But that weird story about 'Bartleby the Scrivener' finally made sense to me, when I understood the reason why my father fell into depression; He found a letter, meant to be delivered to a family on their daughter's 20th birthday, but a fire had taken away the family before then.
It was a typed letter, my father thinks it's because Mr. Ikezawa had less-than-decent handwriting. And my father would go on and on about it, until my mother grew so sick of it she would one day leave me and never come home. I cried thinking she left because I couldn't speak.
My father couldn't understand it either, the way the world worked and how everything seems to go wrong. Blaming himself for our broken family, he left me in the care of his friends; a rookie detective and Miss Akira.
Miss Akira and "Mr. Rookie" didn't really understand it either, but they were happy to take turns babysitting me every once in a while, for as long as a time my father needed. Looking back, I think it actually brought Akira and "Mr. Rookie" closer than they would have been. ..I think, ..Miss Akira had a crush on my father, but kept it forever to herself.
"Life is not a fairytale; things go wrong, and you do what you have to do to move on", Mr. Rookie said that once, although I think he didn't meant for me to hear it, because.. ...because then, I had been "abducted" by the boy that I loved, and my father fired a stray bullet.
"When things go wrong... never stop doing what is right."
I want to move on, with my father, I want us to try to live together again, like a family. No matter how broken. I want to put all the bad things behind us, and so I wave goodbye to Hinata, even if he can't see me smiling in tears, as he goes into his first class at Yamaku.
Maybe it's just fate that things happen the way they do...
After all, my name is Kaguya. And he always Looks to the Sun of Better Days ahead.
...ahh, *sniff*, maybe.. maybe I can too.
--------------------
Happy 20th Birthday My Little Dango,
It will be 20 years now, between now, and the time of my writing this letter on your very first birthday.
There are so many things that I'll wonder if they turned out the way I want them to, but alas, life and fate are fickle and lightsome. What can I say?
Hmmm, I'm guessing by now you were half-expecting this letter, since your father wrote one for Hanako for her 20th birthday, ..well, he Typed it, given how Awful his handwriting is. ...and it hasn't improved at all, has it?
Oh, by now I think you're used to it, the teasing between me and your father I mean, and all the little quirks we have that must embarrass you and your sister. My parents used to be like that, ..as fondly as I remember them to be.
Hmm, it's strange, isn't it? We're both adults now, yet we still find treasures from the time when we were children, when our mother would cuddle us and play with us.
Everytime I had my doubts about how to calm Hanako from crying, the memory of how my mother took care of me becomes my guiding light; I didn't know why my mother would tell me silly stories or was stern with me, but as I raise Hanako the way I was raised, ..it, it brings me to tears to see my little Lotus growing into a beautiful young girl.
Ahah, I'm sorry, this letter isn't about me, although I do have a lot I want to tell you about my own days as a little girl, and how you are probably taking A Lot for granted ....I think, when you have a child of your own, ..you'll understand all the little cherished moments between us that I can't put down in words.
..or, maybe you've confided in your older sister more than me, I didn't have any brothers or sisters of my own to imagine how you and Hanako would talk about things like make-up, or the latest fashions, or boyfriends.
...I looked over just now, and saw my Little Lotus smiling and playing with my Little Dango, ...I think it'll be alright, Hanako is a kind and gentle girl, and she loves you with all her heart. ..I'm sure you two will grow very close, and come to care for each other as loving sisters.
Oh, you've probably heard me tell you this story before, about why I call you My Sweet Little Dango, but in case your father would butt in and make jokes about it every time that I do, I'll make sure there is at least this time that he doesn't get the chance;
It was.. on a beautiful day, when you were born, it was almost near the end of Hanami outside the window, and all along the river the trees were pink with life in a beauty only the heart can describe in memory.
I was tired of course, and for a moment, I wondered about the fireworks the night before, when I overheard again that silly old story that cherry blossom tress were originally white, but stained red with blood. And then, in blinding flashes of pain as you came into this world, I decided to give you your name; Hanabi.
You were beautiful, and crying loudly, and in bright adorable pink, just like the Hanami festival you were born in.
You are my flowery light in the night sky, a young reflection of your older sister Hanako, my little lotus in the pond.
I call you Sweet Little Dango, because your cute little face almost looked like the big red Dango that your father was nibbling on in nervousness.
He was even more nervous than Hanako, if you would believe it, ..oh, so that's why he doesn't stop making fun about how cute you are to be called 'Little Dango', he was a nervous wreck the whole time! I'll make sure to poke fun at him with that from now on.
And you be sure to be nice to him as he grows old, I know he can be a little bit difficult sometimes, and I might not even be helping much with how he is, but underneath our odds and quirks, ..we really love you more than we can say.
I Love You, Hanabi, and even though the saying goes that they prefer the "Dango instead of the Flowers", both you and Hanako are just as important in making my life spent taking care you, and your father's long days at work, as beautiful as a Hanami festival, Every Single Day, for the rest of our lives.
Happy 20th Birthday, Hanabi
We Love You
--------------------
In distance I hear the low rumbling of calm storms, the blue clouds swirl and billow in such magnificence, that in their darkness I glimpse the silver linings of lightning, interconnecting in brilliance the forgotten distances.
A wind swept field reminds me that I'm in it, with a light kiss from a drop of rain. The sheep don't make a sound, they follow their own way to parts unknown. I enjoy the scenery one more moment, before heading back to my car, and bracing again the roads of coastal Scotland.
I wasn't expecting to be heading this far north, especially in such a weather so distant from the Hanami festival going on back home in Washington.
But it can't be helped, as I turn on the windscreen wipers to clear off accumulated moisture, I smile a bit in memory of what's leading me on this road, ..and what's at the end of it.
I had a scholarship to study medicine in Washington D.C., America, granted to me after a recommendation. I didn't know who or cared too much why, I was just happy to accept it and ended up moving out of my old foster home.
It seems cruel, looking back on it now, I had let the lack of blood relation taint my judgements, and have come to hate my foster parents who often argued about something or another. And it did not help make my heart grow fonder, the absence that Hisao left in my life after I confessed that I love him.
It was a beautiful snowy day when it happened, amidst the white agony when his heart fluttered, and I carried him to the side of the road, desperately hailing for help.
But all of that doesn't seem to matter, he survived to grow cold and distant from me, never saying a word until the day I left. 'Why did I leave?', 'When did I leave?', did he ask anything about me after that? I doubt he even noticed that I peeled him an apple.
I couldn't survive like that, taking care of someone who doesn't want me around. He doesn't blame me, I think, he was just lost in the long misery ahead that our brief flicker of happiness had become.
I was worried about him, but I needed to forget him, hence a letter that in writing through the tears of my heart, I denied my pain and suffering as politely as if it never happened.
He never replied.
I think we did the exact same thing; organising our thoughts and filing away our feelings. It seemed inevitable that we saw each other one last time after graduation, on February 14, and in his mute answer, I saw everything that could have been flash by one last time on that snowy winter day, and finally settle peacefully on the white plains of forgotten memories.
But life is lightsome and fate can be fickle, I found out later on that it was Hisao who asked his professor to make the recommendation that got me where I wanted. ..He clearly knows his academic politics, though I wasn't bothered that I never had the chance to thank him.
I was mournful, I was heart-broken, I was devastated, when I found out he was gone, years after the fact. A young American-Japanese investigator named Kaguya came to D.C. to give me the letter, ..she had to tell me via the letter, she was mute.
But there was more to be said; she gave me another letter, one from my mother, my Real Mother, and gave me back my Real Name; I am 'Hanabi'. Not 'Iwanako'. Some weird mix-up and confusions happened, a series of unnecessary of events that kept me from Hanako, ..my older sister ...who survived the fire alone ...and was gone. Years after the fact.
It was a tragedy that didn't have to happen, and yet it did, but in the shock, in the grief, in the agony, Kaguya gave me a name to look for; Hikari, my niece .....my family.
She was in Scotland, Kaguya wanted to go with me to find Hikari, as she was a childhood friend of Hanako's first husband Hinata, but she was wrapped up in work back in Japan. She merely asked that I deliver one last letter, written from my father to Hanako, meant for her 20th birthday, to Hikari. It would be enough for Kaguya, it was something that would have given final rest to the investigator's father.
And so that is how I've come to a Letter's End at John o' Groats. I finally find and approach a girl with an eyepatch, painting the dismal looking horizon, but deftly smiling ahead, as she just knew that there Better Days ahead...
THE END
Author's Notes:
No man is an island.
We are all pages of the same story.
If a bell tolls for another, it tolls for thee as well.
Even a long long journey, filled with grief, sorrow, and sadness, will come to an end.
When it does, all the happy things, all the sad things, will roll into one.
Dango Daikazoku.
My father always used to say that, everytime when one of us was feeling down, or a little upset with life.
He was a disgraced detective, and I was a mute. It was he who accidentally took my voice, and it was I who lost a dear friend to a stray bullet.
My friend didn't die, he.. he lost his sight, and slowly.. his mind too.
He started forgetting things, Important things, ...he changed so much; it was as if we never met.
Anton-Babinski Syndrome, radical personality shifts, short tempers, ...i think the friend that i loved Did actually die.
The last time I saw him, at the entrance ceremony of his new school; he didn't even recognise my voice.
I stood alone amidst falling petals, quietly crying for the boy i used to love, as he disappears forever into the crowds of strangers.
My father tried to comfort me, as I try to think of the story about a letter, and how the special school 'Yamaku' got its name...
'Transience'
My grandfather sent me a photograph of the magical Japanese cherry blossoms, framing the iconic American monument in beautiful disbelief.
It was in 1912, when the Mayor of Tokyo gave the old majestic trees to Washington D.C., in celebration of international friendship.
But 30 years later; Pearl Harbour was attacked. Four of the trees were hatefully cut down. The Americans had to stop calling them 'Japanese' cherry blossoms, and suspend their own celebration of Hanami.
10 years later, after the war, my grandfather intercepted a letter in his 'black room' office, it was addressed to a 'Saki Enomoto'.
It was a sad story; the writer had come to America on a scholarship to study economics, and fell deeply in love with an ailing Saki, an American-Japanese born in an internment camp.
They tried to stay together in hiding, but they were found and forced apart. The writer was deported for violating the terms and visa, and Saki died on a breathing machine.
I think my father was haunted by that story, for the letter taking too long to reach Saki, and how many other stories must have met such an end, as cruel fate moves to silently withhold our desperate words.
"The desperate and the dead can't speak for themselves", maybe that's why he became a detective, and transferred to Japan. My grandfather was very unhappy that he left America, but my father wanted to find his peace, and the story that haunted him seemed to fade away with each successful case closed. I'm sure he was happy, when he met and married my mother, and I came into being in their arms.
But that weird story about 'Bartleby the Scrivener' finally made sense to me, when I understood the reason why my father fell into depression; He found a letter, meant to be delivered to a family on their daughter's 20th birthday, but a fire had taken away the family before then.
It was a typed letter, my father thinks it's because Mr. Ikezawa had less-than-decent handwriting. And my father would go on and on about it, until my mother grew so sick of it she would one day leave me and never come home. I cried thinking she left because I couldn't speak.
My father couldn't understand it either, the way the world worked and how everything seems to go wrong. Blaming himself for our broken family, he left me in the care of his friends; a rookie detective and Miss Akira.
Miss Akira and "Mr. Rookie" didn't really understand it either, but they were happy to take turns babysitting me every once in a while, for as long as a time my father needed. Looking back, I think it actually brought Akira and "Mr. Rookie" closer than they would have been. ..I think, ..Miss Akira had a crush on my father, but kept it forever to herself.
"Life is not a fairytale; things go wrong, and you do what you have to do to move on", Mr. Rookie said that once, although I think he didn't meant for me to hear it, because.. ...because then, I had been "abducted" by the boy that I loved, and my father fired a stray bullet.
"When things go wrong... never stop doing what is right."
I want to move on, with my father, I want us to try to live together again, like a family. No matter how broken. I want to put all the bad things behind us, and so I wave goodbye to Hinata, even if he can't see me smiling in tears, as he goes into his first class at Yamaku.
Maybe it's just fate that things happen the way they do...
After all, my name is Kaguya. And he always Looks to the Sun of Better Days ahead.
...ahh, *sniff*, maybe.. maybe I can too.
--------------------
Happy 20th Birthday My Little Dango,
It will be 20 years now, between now, and the time of my writing this letter on your very first birthday.
There are so many things that I'll wonder if they turned out the way I want them to, but alas, life and fate are fickle and lightsome. What can I say?
Hmmm, I'm guessing by now you were half-expecting this letter, since your father wrote one for Hanako for her 20th birthday, ..well, he Typed it, given how Awful his handwriting is. ...and it hasn't improved at all, has it?
Oh, by now I think you're used to it, the teasing between me and your father I mean, and all the little quirks we have that must embarrass you and your sister. My parents used to be like that, ..as fondly as I remember them to be.
Hmm, it's strange, isn't it? We're both adults now, yet we still find treasures from the time when we were children, when our mother would cuddle us and play with us.
Everytime I had my doubts about how to calm Hanako from crying, the memory of how my mother took care of me becomes my guiding light; I didn't know why my mother would tell me silly stories or was stern with me, but as I raise Hanako the way I was raised, ..it, it brings me to tears to see my little Lotus growing into a beautiful young girl.
Ahah, I'm sorry, this letter isn't about me, although I do have a lot I want to tell you about my own days as a little girl, and how you are probably taking A Lot for granted ....I think, when you have a child of your own, ..you'll understand all the little cherished moments between us that I can't put down in words.
..or, maybe you've confided in your older sister more than me, I didn't have any brothers or sisters of my own to imagine how you and Hanako would talk about things like make-up, or the latest fashions, or boyfriends.
...I looked over just now, and saw my Little Lotus smiling and playing with my Little Dango, ...I think it'll be alright, Hanako is a kind and gentle girl, and she loves you with all her heart. ..I'm sure you two will grow very close, and come to care for each other as loving sisters.
Oh, you've probably heard me tell you this story before, about why I call you My Sweet Little Dango, but in case your father would butt in and make jokes about it every time that I do, I'll make sure there is at least this time that he doesn't get the chance;
It was.. on a beautiful day, when you were born, it was almost near the end of Hanami outside the window, and all along the river the trees were pink with life in a beauty only the heart can describe in memory.
I was tired of course, and for a moment, I wondered about the fireworks the night before, when I overheard again that silly old story that cherry blossom tress were originally white, but stained red with blood. And then, in blinding flashes of pain as you came into this world, I decided to give you your name; Hanabi.
You were beautiful, and crying loudly, and in bright adorable pink, just like the Hanami festival you were born in.
You are my flowery light in the night sky, a young reflection of your older sister Hanako, my little lotus in the pond.
I call you Sweet Little Dango, because your cute little face almost looked like the big red Dango that your father was nibbling on in nervousness.
He was even more nervous than Hanako, if you would believe it, ..oh, so that's why he doesn't stop making fun about how cute you are to be called 'Little Dango', he was a nervous wreck the whole time! I'll make sure to poke fun at him with that from now on.
And you be sure to be nice to him as he grows old, I know he can be a little bit difficult sometimes, and I might not even be helping much with how he is, but underneath our odds and quirks, ..we really love you more than we can say.
I Love You, Hanabi, and even though the saying goes that they prefer the "Dango instead of the Flowers", both you and Hanako are just as important in making my life spent taking care you, and your father's long days at work, as beautiful as a Hanami festival, Every Single Day, for the rest of our lives.
Happy 20th Birthday, Hanabi
We Love You
--------------------
In distance I hear the low rumbling of calm storms, the blue clouds swirl and billow in such magnificence, that in their darkness I glimpse the silver linings of lightning, interconnecting in brilliance the forgotten distances.
A wind swept field reminds me that I'm in it, with a light kiss from a drop of rain. The sheep don't make a sound, they follow their own way to parts unknown. I enjoy the scenery one more moment, before heading back to my car, and bracing again the roads of coastal Scotland.
I wasn't expecting to be heading this far north, especially in such a weather so distant from the Hanami festival going on back home in Washington.
But it can't be helped, as I turn on the windscreen wipers to clear off accumulated moisture, I smile a bit in memory of what's leading me on this road, ..and what's at the end of it.
I had a scholarship to study medicine in Washington D.C., America, granted to me after a recommendation. I didn't know who or cared too much why, I was just happy to accept it and ended up moving out of my old foster home.
It seems cruel, looking back on it now, I had let the lack of blood relation taint my judgements, and have come to hate my foster parents who often argued about something or another. And it did not help make my heart grow fonder, the absence that Hisao left in my life after I confessed that I love him.
It was a beautiful snowy day when it happened, amidst the white agony when his heart fluttered, and I carried him to the side of the road, desperately hailing for help.
But all of that doesn't seem to matter, he survived to grow cold and distant from me, never saying a word until the day I left. 'Why did I leave?', 'When did I leave?', did he ask anything about me after that? I doubt he even noticed that I peeled him an apple.
I couldn't survive like that, taking care of someone who doesn't want me around. He doesn't blame me, I think, he was just lost in the long misery ahead that our brief flicker of happiness had become.
I was worried about him, but I needed to forget him, hence a letter that in writing through the tears of my heart, I denied my pain and suffering as politely as if it never happened.
He never replied.
I think we did the exact same thing; organising our thoughts and filing away our feelings. It seemed inevitable that we saw each other one last time after graduation, on February 14, and in his mute answer, I saw everything that could have been flash by one last time on that snowy winter day, and finally settle peacefully on the white plains of forgotten memories.
But life is lightsome and fate can be fickle, I found out later on that it was Hisao who asked his professor to make the recommendation that got me where I wanted. ..He clearly knows his academic politics, though I wasn't bothered that I never had the chance to thank him.
I was mournful, I was heart-broken, I was devastated, when I found out he was gone, years after the fact. A young American-Japanese investigator named Kaguya came to D.C. to give me the letter, ..she had to tell me via the letter, she was mute.
But there was more to be said; she gave me another letter, one from my mother, my Real Mother, and gave me back my Real Name; I am 'Hanabi'. Not 'Iwanako'. Some weird mix-up and confusions happened, a series of unnecessary of events that kept me from Hanako, ..my older sister ...who survived the fire alone ...and was gone. Years after the fact.
It was a tragedy that didn't have to happen, and yet it did, but in the shock, in the grief, in the agony, Kaguya gave me a name to look for; Hikari, my niece .....my family.
She was in Scotland, Kaguya wanted to go with me to find Hikari, as she was a childhood friend of Hanako's first husband Hinata, but she was wrapped up in work back in Japan. She merely asked that I deliver one last letter, written from my father to Hanako, meant for her 20th birthday, to Hikari. It would be enough for Kaguya, it was something that would have given final rest to the investigator's father.
And so that is how I've come to a Letter's End at John o' Groats. I finally find and approach a girl with an eyepatch, painting the dismal looking horizon, but deftly smiling ahead, as she just knew that there Better Days ahead...
THE END
Author's Notes:
No man is an island.
We are all pages of the same story.
If a bell tolls for another, it tolls for thee as well.
Even a long long journey, filled with grief, sorrow, and sadness, will come to an end.
When it does, all the happy things, all the sad things, will roll into one.
Dango Daikazoku.
