異体同心 [1]
The person sitting in front of me has the same face, but different eyes.
Years ago, you looked at me with a bright gaze filled with boundless joy, like warm sunlight filtering through the clouds on a winter’s day. Now the light has been smothered by overwhelming darkness, the barest spark alive in them.
Your sharp brows and windswept hair are old, familiar features. But the shadows under your eyes, like dark daubs of ink, are new.
We sit together on a wooden boat. I clutch a delicate fan patterned with bamboo stalks in my hand while you row us across the lake at a steady pace. The lotuses and lily pads sway gently against ripples of water from the oars. Rays of light spill through the plum blossom and black pine trees overhead.
I scoop old rice from a bowl I’ve set in my lap and dip my fingers into the water. A cluster of mottled koi fish dart towards the grains, gulping them with greed. I smile – I remember how joyous we were when Otou-san [2] brought us baby koi fish from the marketplace to set free into the lake. On many occasions, we would sneak off from our studies to go feed them titbits of food. I glance up and catch you gazing at them with a wistful look in your eyes.
We sit in silence, save for the occasional chirps from white-eyes and distant trills from flycatchers. A pair of mandarin ducks paddle past us, the male brilliantly plumed with purple at his breast and striking cobalt feathers across his body, while the female swims contentedly by his side. Many a time I’ve attempted to capture their beauty in a painting, but it is unfortunate that I am a terrible artist. You’ve laughed at my various unsuccessful attempts, criticising them to look more akin to oddly shaped geese than ducks. I would always sulk at your words (despite recognising their undeniable truth).
Now that we are united once more, I’m uncertain of what to say. The words that want to spring out of my mouth are “You’ve changed”, but I bite my lips and swallow them down. It is insulting to say something so obvious. Seven long years have passed with oceans separating us. While I’ve stayed back and tended to our home, you’ve been a Go stone [3] in a war, manoeuvred by the scheming tactics of our leaders. One little piece in a conflict that monopolised millions.
A part of me hoped you would remain unscathed from the volley of bullets and the treacherous conditions you were forced to survive in. I have watched families close to ours be wracked with grief when learning their children had passed, and anxiety would rear in my stomach like a barbaric snake. Relief would wash over me every time a letter came intermittently every few months.
When they stopped, I feared the worst.
My prayers have been answered in part. You are alive and well, and have returned in one piece. I am thankful for this.
And yet, the war has bequeathed you scars unseen by the naked eye. Fog clutters your eyes as memories of the horrors you witnessed chase you around like wraiths. You are present in the moment – yet your mind lingers in the past. If only there was a way to wind back the clock and undo the devastation that altered the lives of so many. But War, with his cruel hands and stony heart, is ruthless.
The boat hits the bank of the lake and we dismount next to the red soribashi [4]. If we ventured further down the dirt road, we would reach Yogi Park. The cherry blossom trees are peppered with green buds now, but once the chill of winter passes, the buds will bloom into stunning pink flowers, heralding the start of Hanami [5]. The streets will bustle with people wearing silken kimonos, children running around in excitement and vendors selling a cornucopia of delectable foods. You would always hunt for Hanami dango [6] during the festival, while I would search the streets for Tetsuya-san, who always had the most exquisite sakura mochi [7] amongst all the vendors. The sweet flavour of the red bean paste would burst in my mouth as we strolled by blushing trees strung with glowing round lanterns.
The festival was never the same without you.
We walk across the soribashi and pause in the middle of the bridge. The wind brushes against my hair as I lean against the railing. I peek sideways, but you are staring off into the distance, lost in thought. Further down, the pavilion built over the lake is barely in sight.
Do you remember? It’s where we first met.
Fourteen years old. Stems and branches scattered haphazardly across the wooden floor of the pavilion. I, kneeling in a cotton kimono, fists clenched with crushed flowers. My head was dizzy with frustration. The ikebana [8] arrangement I visualised so clearly in my mind fell apart in my fingers. An art all the women in my family had practiced since childhood and still my talent fluctuated out of my control. The words of praise I wanted to hear morphed into harsh criticisms. Why couldn’t I do this? Why wasn’t I good enough?
A hand taps my shoulder and I look up. A boy I don’t know smiles down at me and offers me something in his outstretched hand. A green tea daifuku in a paper wrapper sits in his palm. My stomach growls and I flush red – I hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast and it was nearing afternoon. So desperate I was to win the approval of Oba-san [9], a master in the art of ikebana!
The boy’s smile widens and he extends his palm further. I take the daifuku and mutter a small thank you, hoping that he will go away. Instead, he plops down on the pavilion right next to me and props a hand under his chin, staring thoughtfully at the mess of plants on the floor. He picks up the empty ceramic vase and places it in front of him. Gathering several camellias, irises and morning glories, he manoeuvres them for several minutes while I watch in dumbfounded silence.
The end result is… interesting. I bite my lip to suppress my laughter, but from his face, I can tell he knows exactly what I think of it. He doesn’t seem to mind. He lifts the vase with both hands and presents it to me.
An iris for admiration and hope. A camellia for victory under adversity. A morning glory for a bond of love. The arrangement is awkwardly angled, but it’s a new perspective that breathes with sincerity. I accept it with open palms.
The pressure of ikebana remained a hefty burden upon my shoulders. Yet whenever I would nosedive, you would always appear, a sweet in one hand. Your companionship may have seemed simple, but it had the power to dissipate the anxieties that clouded my head and frustrated my fingers. One coincidence turned into several coincidences. When it happened one too many times, it evolved into fate.
I could have never fathomed that an exchange of flowers and sweets would bloom into more than a budding friendship. You gave life to a river of memories that flow deep between us. I cherish them more than you will ever know.
There are new rivers running through your mind that I can never traverse. You may struggle against their turbulent currents for aeons of time. The pain flows deep within you, coursing through your veins. I cannot compel you to forget the past. But I will always be by your side.
One day, I hope you will find peace.
I reach into my pocket and deposit a strawberry daifuku in your palm. You stare at it for a long moment, then smile.
Someday, we’ll get there.
[1] 異体同心 is a Japanese proverb that means ‘Two bodies, same heart’. The proverb is used to indicate someone is your soulmate or to depict a union of love.
[2] Otou-san means ‘father’ in Japanese.
[3] Go is a popular strategy board game. The pieces used to play go are called stones. One player uses black stones, while the other uses white stones, similar to chess.
[4] Soribashi is a traditional arched bridge in Japan. The colour red in Japan symbolises transformation, wisdom and anything sacred.
[5] Hanami is a flower viewing festival in Japan, in which people view cherry blossom trees in bloom during the spring season (over March to April).
[6] Hanami dango is a Japanese dessert made of pink, white and green mochi that are served on a stick.
[7] Sakura mochi is a Japanese dessert made of sweet glutinous mochi rice and filled with red bean paste.
[8] Ikebana is the Japanese art of arranging flowers, leaves and stems and has developed over seven centuries.
[9] Oba-san means ‘aunt’ in Japanese.
