Tenniscoats
Only a few hundred miles away from the epicenter and I didn't even feel it. After making lunch, I sat down in front of my laptop and pulled up the Huffington Post only to find it emblazoned with JAPAN DEVASTATED and a stock photo of Shinjuku. There were no actual pictures yet…no specifics…it had just occurred. Details began pouring in…8.9…no, 9.0…thousands feared dead. Rapidly, I began to realize the enormity of what had just occurred and my heart began to sink.
I soon contacted my wife who had been the only person in her office to feel the vibrations, having alerted her fellow exchange teacher by pointing out the light fixtures swaying above their heads. That evening we watched the coverage in horror as a path of unimaginable destruction was carved down the east coast of Honshu. Our coastal town, Matsusaka, was protected from the tsunami by the vast Ise Bay which served to blunt the waves. It wasn’t until days later that the scope of the events unfolding at Fukushima was understood.
The ensuing days were all worried messages from family and friends, conflicting information from the U.S. and Japanese governments, and non-stop coverage of the disaster on every television channel. However, despite all of this, everything seemed relatively normal around our town and there was very little discussion of what was happening up north.
When I next met with my Friday night English class—a close-knit group of retired Japanese men and women—I asked how they were handling the situation and if they knew anyone in the disaster areas. Some revealed that they had friends or family in affected areas but fortunately all were safe. One woman mentioned feeling guilty about going out and enjoying herself, citing a need to empathize with the victims.
Another student voiced concern about the cherry blossoms arriving on time. See, it was almost April and sakura season was imminent. The response seemed unexpected at the time, but I came to realize that the timely arrival of cherry blossoms represented normality—something to depend on during a time of overwhelming uncertainty.
A unique electricity pulses through Japan during cherry blossom season. The status of the blooms—from Okinawa in early February to Hokkaido in May—is tracked very closely. The scenery becomes beautiful beyond words. Blankets and picnickers become ubiquitous in every park. Spirits are lifted and a sense of renewal fills the air after Japan’s typically harsh winter.
When the blossoms finally arrived a week later, the relief was palpable.
The Tenniscoats video above is a microcosm of many things I love about Japan. The strangely comforting sound of trains that come roaring out of nowhere. Cities that feel lived in. A salaryman who respectfully keeps to himself despite obvious curiosity. Saya Ueno’s calm demeanor, tender playfulness, and clever resourcefulness are qualities that I’ve found in nearly every Japanese person I've known. Her determination to continue the song in the face of a screaming train is indicative of the type of perseverance that has allowed the people of Japan to overcome the monumentally tragic events that occurred five years ago.
Today, my thoughts are with the wonderful and inspiring people of Japan.