I returned from the Philippines to a different world. Exhausted from 17 hours of traveling and the burden of my backpack, I dragged my feet down the sidewalk as a gentle rain wet my face. But I was smiling. Outside my subway station, a dull yellow streetlight illuminated my first glimpse of sakura. A subtle but victorious sensation, like Aslan’s pur, swelled within me. Alas, spring had come.
Let’s be real, it’s always a different world in Japan.
初めに – Beginning
Spring in Kyoto unfolds with an elegant gradualness, like the plot-line of a storybook. I was telling myself I was getting used to the bitter cold of winter, but I knew that it was wearing me down. The constant numbness that seeps from the ground to the very bone is not something to get used to. Yet it was during the dreariest days of late February that our first sign of hope came. It was several days after a snow flurry, when the skies opened up and the air seemed to thaw in the sun, that the excited rumors began. The plum blossoms have arrived! Even the breeze seemed to whisper the news, as my nose caught word of a fleeting sweetness in the air. As soon as the weekend came I set out to investigate. Indeed, it was true.
梅 (ume) = plum blossoms
kitano-tenmangu, Kyoto
the lion, the lantern, and the plum blossoms
Yet hope is no conclusion. It is our strength to struggle on when the battle is not yet finished. So it was that winter was not done with us. The seeming promise of sunny skies fled with the resurgence of a chilly and gloomy wind. 3 days warm, 4 days cold. That’s what they say. Spring and Winter seemed to be locked in conflict, as we were tossed about in the crossfire of Jadis’ last stand. But after that first taste of warmth, it felt like 3 steps forward, 4 steps back. The days of Heat-Tech and hot-pot were not yet over. However, with everyday the struggle continued, the earth was gaining strength. Flowers were blooming.
zushin-in plum blossoms, Kyoto
さくら – sakura
There was no doubt about what would be the climax of this story. It is a time the Japanese anticipate all yearlong: the arrival of the sakura – the famed cherry blossoms. It was a peculiar experience missing the first blossoms and returning from my trip in the midst of full bloom. Yet it was nothing short of spectacular.
night sakura at Nijo Castle, Kyoto
ducks in the Uji River
along the philosopher’s path, Kyoto
花見 – hanami
It was a time of joyous celebration. Everywhere new life was in bloom, and the ancient capital was magnificently adorned in its springtime splendor. The beauty of the sakura was inescapable; it was everywhere. Crowds from all over Japan and the world gathered in Kyoto to marvel with wide eyes. And, of course, to party. Hanami (flower viewing parties) are a long-held tradition in Japan, especially in Kyoto.
epic hanami at the legendary Maruyama Park, Kyoto
Our local JET community, being no stranger to parties, followed suit in due style. On first Saturday of April, nearly 100 JETs from all over the Kansai region gathered in the gardens of Osaka castle. Beneath a canopy of stunning pink flowers, we lounged and laughed on blue tarps scattered with food and drink. As the afternoon carried on and the frisbee grew weary, we raised our voices together in rowdy choruses of 90’s classics as Dave and I jammed on the guitar. The evening and its rain coincided with the closing of the park and the end of our party, but our season of celebration lived on.
party in the castle gardens
the Kyoto kids
“8 centimeters per second,” my friend proclaimed. “The speed at which a sakura petal falls.” The season is far too short. After about two weeks the curtains were already drawing on Kyoto’s big show. But my, what a finale it was. Every warm breeze carried with it an elegant flurry of sakura petals, the pale-pink snowflakes of spring. They danced in the streets as cars drove by, and lazily drifted down the many streams navigating the city. One day on my way home from work I stopped by Daigo-ji, for like the fifth time, to slowly walk through the outer courtyards and marvel at the spectacle. Beneath a blue sky, the sakura blossomed above me in clouds of soft color. As I walked, petals gracefully rained about me, some getting caught in my hair as they made their way to the stone pathway my feet carefully passed over. Time itself seemed to hang back with the gentle journey of the falling petals, like I was dreaming with my eyes open, floating along with the flowers through warm air. It was beautiful.
Daigo-ji pathway
終わり – End
Mathematically, I knew it would happen. Petals can only fall for so long until there are no more. Now, there are no more. Sure, there were the late bloomers. The weeping sakura, with their dazzling gowns of pink, came fashionably late to the party, stealing the show as the city’s floral hue was fading. Yet even their petals have now come to rest wherever it is that the rivers carry them.
the Toryo High weeping sakura
along the Kamo River, Kyoto
5 days warm, 2 days cool. Where the flowers once hung from trees, budding leaves have come, reminiscent of the lush green promise of summer. 6 days warm, 1 day cool. When is the last time I’ve turned on the heater? The permanent green of the mountains seem to have taken on a deeper shade. How does this story end anyway? Perhaps it doesn’t. The weather will warm to a humid boil, then it will cool into the blazing colors of autumn, then the long winter will return. And it all happens again. And again. But perhaps we need these endless reminders – that “there is a time for everything, a season for every activity under the heavens… A time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance.”* A reminder that hope is not temporal. “For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.”** And so we go on.
strawberry picking in southern Kyoto-fu
*Ecclesiastes 3:1,4
**2 Corinthians 4:17-18
KonnichiWhatsup 