The Cherry Blossom Rarely Smiles

by Ioana Lee

  “You see,” I used to tell him, “I’m afraid of the dark cemetery, yet I’m not afraid to fly 15 hours by plane, change planes, get through airports and travel over continents… all by myself. Therefore, who is more fearful?” I always laughed saying this. Often times there were a mix between crying and laughing. My life was wonderful then, yet I was unable to see it that way. Unable because I was too busy thinking: “How actually is my life?”

  “I’m weak and lonely

  Just like a weed pulled out of the earth.

  If only a flood would catch me, to carry me away!”

  Ono Komachi

  I found my life and myself almost entirely explained in haikus, insomuch as any additions and explanations to their simplicity seemed like useless blather and diluted talk. Haikus are the concentrated essence of an emotion, expressed in very few words and verses. Their power is strong enough to radiate the universal truth of human nature. If any longer than necessary, haikus would dissipate, just like a strong perfume in fresh air.

  The Long Expected Meeting

  I had already been in Japan for ten months and was yearning badly for my family from Romania. I missed them enormously. My parents and middle sister, Sorana, came to visit me at last. They came to Tokyo to spend their summer vacation, but most of all to be part of our Japanese wedding. The civil marriage, ceremony and the Romanian wedding had been held in Bucharest, one year prior to that.

  I was restlessly excited at the thought of seeing them again after such a long time. I felt unprepared. I waited for them with much anticipation and joy, yet their arrival and the wedding were coming at a very difficult time for me; difficult because my mind and soul were exhausted due to the projects and preparation for my career in television. No part of my career came to fulfillment in Japan, like I had truly wanted. I came to realize this much later. At that time though, I didn’t know that the man who I was about to marry “for the second time” could have had anything to do with my unfulfilled dreams.

  Long before they arrived in Japan, I told my parents everything they needed to know about customs, visas, health insurance, and plane tickets in order for them to have a safe and pleasant trip. Everything was organized and paid for by Otoosan, who wouldn’t let anyone else take care of my family, not even me. I had numerous conversations with mom, dad and Sorana, telling them what to wear, what traditions and rules they must obey in Japan, what they should do or not do once they arrived in the country and how to behave when they came in contact with the Japanese. On one hand, my Japanese family and I were concerned that my mom, dad and sister wouldn’t be able to eat and sleep for days after their arrival. We were worried that they’d be allergic to the water and food, just like I was when I first came to Japan. Preparing for some of these things wasn’t easy. On the other hand, I explained to my Japanese family what they should or shouldn’t do in front of my Romanian family. I wanted to make sure that everything ran smoothly.

  I advised my Romanian family to only bring a few clothes and not to worry about toiletries. I told them that there was no reason for them to bring pajamas, towels, toothbrushes, soap and other such things, because the ones found in Japan were of very high quality. “We have everything we need in the house, plus enough of everything for two more families. At the house in Sendai we could easily accommodate 15 people and offer them all the comfort they need. These people always have extra supplies when it comes to towels, toiletries, body lotion, and shampoo. Believe me, the pharmacies and supermarkets in Romania are undersupplied compared to our Japanese home. I remember the day when I arrived here and saw how many things my Japanese family had in the house. I thought that they were planning to open a home goods store,” I told them, laughing.

  Unfortunately, one could get used to glamour and luxury in everything, until it became second nature. That was exactly my case. I could no longer see and appreciate the simple gestures of those around me. My Japanese family’s behavior was their way of assuring my comfort, spoiling me and in the end, showing me how much they loved me. In a short period of time, I came to believe that I deserved everything and was entitled to have it all. I took everything for granted. Sadly, I had forgotten that prior to that time, I had lived a different, more “normal” and modest lifestyle. I enjoyed my former lifestyle even more than my current one, as my common sense was unaltered back then… Perhaps this path of extravagance is a path that could also guide you—if you wake up in time—to wisdom; for as the saying goes, “The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom.”

  I asked my parents to bring me cheese, salami, liver pate and bread from Romania. After I asked them, I thought to myself “Poor parents… might my requests make them think that Japan has everything except food? How is it possible to be so well off, but not have money for a loaf of bread?” They were kind enough and didn’t ask anything. I knew that once they arrived here they’d understand exactly why they had to carry food from halfway around the world.

  Usually, just describing my experiences in Japan, Romania and the United States don’t even come close to actually living and feeling them. Regardless of much you’d try to prepare someone to get ready to adjust to a different culture and mindset, it’s never enough. With this thought in mind, how could I explain to my parents that regardless of how many stores I’d shop in, I couldn’t find a loaf of bread that would taste similar to the one in Romania. I craved the bread that I grew up eating. And the salami… There were many types of salami, but nothing came close to the one made in Sibiu, Romania. Or the Romanian feta… It was as if I’d try to find in a Romanian supermarket soya buds, or seaweed salad, or shrimp in prune sauce, or canned sea urchin brain. All of these foods were Nipponese specialties.

  One day prior to their arrival, Ken and I went shopping and bought lots of European food. It didn’t cross our minds that they might really enjoy Japanese food. Much of the Japanese food that my Romanian family ended up eating I couldn’t even look at, let alone chew, even though I had been in Japan a lot longer than they were. Initially, I thought that they said yes to all the Japanese food out of politeness. Well, I was mistaken. They were extremely impressed with Japanese cuisine and restaurants. I didn’t even consider taking them to those restaurants because I didn’t think that they would find it easy to conform to the restaurant’s rules—crossing their legs while eating at a very low table, using chop sticks, etc. I was very mistaken.

  The clock was ticking. One day left before their arrival. Ken and I left our house in the evening and headed towards Narita airport. We booked a room at one of the nicest airport hotels. The distance between Tokyo and Narita was long and we didn’t like traveling back and forth the same day. Spending one night at the airport hotel, either before leaving the country or returning from abroad was very enjoyable for us. It really helped us reduce the stress of traveling long distances, the tiredness and the jetlag caused by the different time zones.

  We checked into the hotel and then headed downstairs to one of their traditional restaurants. We had miso soup (misoshiru) and shrimp tempura (ebi no tempura) for dinner. We both liked staring at the bright runways through the large windows of the restaurant. The contrast between the bright color lights on the runways and the darkness of the night was hypnotizing. Ken and I found it inspiring to watch the planes as they took off towards the army of stars. Planes would take off and land every 90 seconds, one after another, each and every one of them graciously defying gravity. They left the ground either to fly out into the whole world, or to bring the whole world onto Japanese land. It was romantic and fascinating at the same time. Late that evening we went back to our room and tried to get some sleep before the big moment. We were both too agitated to close our eyes. The thought of seeing them again was anxiously exciting. Their long flight, the fact that they had to change multiple planes, the potential turbulence was worrisome to both of us. We fell asleep at last.

  “Oh, you pendulum!

  Precisely when

  I had mama in my dreams…”

&
nbsp; Enomoto Kikaku

  The long, expected day finally came. Ken had the camera ready to take photos of us. I was excitedly looking towards the gates where people flooded in and were officially welcomed on Japanese soil. Finally, I saw my dearest people on Earth coming towards me. They were evidently tired, yet extremely joyful to finally see me again. I couldn’t contain myself and started sobbing loudly, shocking my family as well as all the people around us, who were laughing and hugging each other. I couldn’t stop crying. I tried to explain to my family that I was fine and nothing had happened. I was crying because I didn’t realize how much I missed them and how guilty I felt for moving half a world away from them… Now, they were here, right next to me.

  I was sad that I didn’t have my entire family here. Iulia, my oldest sister, and her husband Emil were missing. They were scheduled to visit me towards the end of the year. I wanted to have them ALL with me. I wanted to bring them ALL together and never let them go. I was praying in my heart that my parents would love Japan so much that they would decide to move here to be with me after retiring. I understood that as much as they would have liked it, they couldn’t have done it. That was just a selfish prayer of mine. I had no right to pull them away from their home country to make it convenient and comfortable for me.

  By the time we arrived in Tokyo we were exhausted. I gave my parents a room and asked Ken to sleep with Kiku so that she wouldn’t wake everyone up with her barking. I decided to share my bed with Sorana. I knew that two sisters that haven’t seen in each other in so long would spend most of the night talking.

  Only now I realize that I have something extremely precious in my life that I have never thanked my parents for. I never thanked them for giving me two wonderful sisters. I realize that the person that I am today, from the moment I was born until now, is due largely to the fact that I was surrounded by my two sisters. I can’t even imagine how I would be and think if I didn’t have my parents and sisters. I learned a ton of things from them, even though I have a more restless soul and wild personality.

  Considering how traditional my family is, I have no idea how I came to have such an adventurous spirit, which was in direct contradiction with the way my family feels and thinks about life. I know that regardless of what I would do and what corner of the world I’d live in, they’d still love and support me unconditionally. It’s wonderful to realize that you are loved just the way you are—the good and the bad, succeeding or failing, being healthy or weak or living close or far. I doubt that I could ever thank them enough. If it was possible, I’d open my heart to show them how much love is in it for them. I realized that I missed them tremendously regardless of what continent I was on. I missed them even when we were all in the same country. Often times I missed them even when they were right in front of me.

  We spoke so much in Romanian that I thought that my cheeks would fall off. We ate so much Romanian food. Mom, dad and Ken went to the supermarket and bought all the ingredients necessary to make Romanian dishes, dishes that I would have never touched before I moved to Japan. Now, however, I savored and appreciated every bite.

  I enjoy having people visit me and spend time together, yet I don’t know and probably will never know how to be a good host. I’ve always been the type of person that says: “Come to my place. I have everything we need. The condition is that you take care of your own needs and also preferably cook some food for me…” Therefore, whenever my friends or family visited me, they made their own coffee and also prepared food for me. I could only offer them my irreplaceable company.

  Unfortunately, things went the same way during my family’s visit. My parents took the kitchen by storm, competing amongst themselves who would prepare more delicious dishes for me. I forgot that they were my guests and I was the host and not the other way around. None of them cautioned me about my behavior.

  “Mom, I’m hungry. Can you please prepare some food for me?”

  “Sorana, can you please bring me my light blue dress. I believe it’s in the closet. If not, it must be in the bedroom.”

  “Dad, can you please go buy some bread?” (He got familiar with the area and was going shopping by himself. He even found a place that was selling bread, similar to the bread in Romania).

  “Do you like this TV show? It’s one of my favorite ones… Oh, you can’t understand the language? You haven’t learned Japanese yet? Oh well! Ken, please translate this for them…”

  Or, even more absurd:

  “Mom, can you give me some of your makeup remover. I think yours it’s better than my Japanese one.”

  “Sorana, give me your slippers. I don’t know where I left mine.”

  “Mom, comb my hair. It’s too long and tiring to do it myself. Oh, wait, I can’t find my hairbrush. Sorana, give me yours.”

  “Dad, can you please feed Kiku?”

  They learned all the Japanese words that had to do with Kiku’s rituals. Whenever feeding her, they had to let her know first by saying Kiku-chan, gohan da yo, meaning Miss Kiku, it’s time to eat. Then, O, suwari, meaning Please sit. After a few minutes of waiting for the food, without seeing or smelling it, she had to be told Yoshi – Yoshi. That meant You may now start to eat. Ken gave her this training and didn’t allow anyone to feed her any other way. Kiku had to be educated to eat without rushing to her food and not to accept anything that strangers might feed her.

  After noticing my behavior, acting like a spoiled guest more than a gracious host, my parents reminded me with humor of what I had said to them before their departure from Romania: “It’s not necessary for you to bring anything. I have it all – towels, brushes, sleepers, makeup remover. There’s absolutely everything here…” They laughed as they said this.

  “Good thing that we know you so well. We somehow knew that you were going to be distracted and brought our own toothpaste. We can’t wait for you to come to Romania, but please don’t bring anything with you. We’ll really provide you with anything you need.” We laughed a lot when they said that. Only after their departure did I realize how bad I was and that they didn’t touch any of the toiletries in the house. I never gave them anything to use and never told them what some of those products were for. I was so happy to have them close to me that I totally disregarded their needs and what I had promised them. I acted like a spoiled little brat. Thinking of this makes me want to slap myself. Truth be told, I was outrageously excited to speak Romanian fluently again and be pampered by my parents and older sister. I forgot that I wasn’t 5 anymore.

  I also regret the fact that due to my intense preparation that I was under in order to start my television career, I had to watch certain shows and take notes, thinking that that was more important than my family understanding a word of what was being said. I also had to spend time writing essays for a magazine and was asked to be a critic for some television shows. Becoming a critic never came to pass either. I didn’t know that it wasn’t going to happen because of the same reason: Ken, my beloved husband. I was hopeful in my naiveté though…

  Walks To Remember

  My parents and I strolled around Tokyo daily. I showed them the blond Japanese girls from Shibuya and the luxurious and elegant shops in Ginza. We took great joy in going for relaxing walks in Ueno Park and then savoring petite Japanese pastries at the restaurants from the Shinjuku and Aoyama area. The city looked more colorful, busy and bright than ever.

  My parents never found the courage to venture into a big city like Tokyo with just me. Ken joined us often, yet when he wasn’t able to come; their only option was to hang out with me, which made them restless and worried. They were convinced that it was impossible for me to learn how to navigate such a humongous and crowded city.

  I told them that it was impossible to get lost in Tokyo, as long as you speak the language and have a cell phone. To give them even more peace of mind, I added that unlike the reception in Romania, cell phones worked here on the subways, highways—even in the elevators. There were maps everywhere which showed your exac
t location and in what direction you should go, depending on your destination.

  Nonetheless, knowing that they were continuously worried in the beginning, I took them for walks in our neighborhood. Slowly but surely, I ventured to take them two subway stations away to explore a new area as well. As time went by I took them further and further from the house. One evening, without asking for their permission, I took them on a subway and then a bus. I showed them the shops and then we stopped at a pastry shop to enjoy some treats together.

  They were astounded by everything around them: the bright billboards, buildings, advertisements with undecipherable characters, a store with Romanian traditional vests, liquor stores with wine from all over the world—except for Romanian wine—the exorbitant prices in the luxurious shops, street vendors offering free tissues to everyone walking by, the fact that men used fans, women putting on makeup on public transportation, the masks on the sick people’s faces. They were continuously surprised by the avalanche of merchandise on the streets of Tokyo, the errand boys who were sleeping on their tiny motorcycles whenever they weren't delivering goods to people, the crazy outfits of most teenagers, the youthful attitude of old people, the colors of the seats on the subway (the blue seats were reserved for elderly and sick people), the politeness of everyone around them, the frequency of the earthquakes that seemed to happen as often as our walks together. Everything was different for them.