Ichi go ichi e
I'm starting to realise what's actually happening in my life at the
moment. I've been doing a pretty good job of avoiding thinking
about things, but I've now finished working and have to come to terms
with what is about to happen, or, in fact, what is happening now. I'm preparing to leave Japan, my second home, for the second time. I'm preparing to leave Hamamatsu, my home for two years.
I had three of my Japanese friends, Keiji, Hiromi and Eiki, over tonight. It was great - entertaining and light - until one of them said something that got to me. Keiji is a calligraphist and wanted to teach me how to write genki - my character. (It means anything from healthy to energetic to lively to cheerful.) It was fun and it was nice to experience the concentration and attention to detail that is so integral to everything quintessentially Japanese. I asked Keiji to write genki on one of the lovely cards they'd got me and then asked that all three choose a character to write on another board for me, so there'd be three words or phrases with all of their names on it.
Hiromi went first and wrote nakama or friend. Eki went next and wrote ichi go ichi e, which his dictionary translated as a once in a lifetime chance, but I asked him to explain the meaning of the kanji, focussing on the individual meanings of the kanji. It's the old Japanese way of thinking, that every moment is here just once. One chance. One encounter; one opportunity. That's how I feel about everything, which is why I'm always so affected by my surroundings. This moment will never be here again. These moments shared with truly wonderful people from now on will exist only in my mind. This moment must be cherished for it is here only once.
I was trying not to think about all of that, fighting my natural tendencies, but couldn't do it. It just got to me. You know - when something hits you like an arrow, pierces your facade, tears away that protective layer and exposes exactly what you were trying to hide. I just started crying. I really felt ichi go ichi e in that moment. I understand the transience of life. I understand that I have to live this moment to the best of my ability because it will never be here again. It's a part of my make-up that I realise this in the moment, instead of afterwards. Nostalgia is usually felt about the past or a different place, but I feel it for the moment, too. Time is like water, slipping through my fingers. Ephemeral, fugacious, evanescent. Why are these words so beautiful that describe something so agonising?
Keiji then wrote two kanji for me to choose from. He asked me which one I liked better. I asked what they meant and he wouldn't tell me. I chose the more complicated one because it represented how I felt about Japan: I appreciated its complexity, the artfulness of it; the fact that the brush struggles to hold enough ink to paint all the strokes; that the last strokes, though just as important, are not as bold; that I could probably never write it beautifully... It turns out that I chose ai or love. So I've got a collection of three wonderful sentiments - friendship, appreciating the moment and love - from three wonderful people.
As much as I focus on the fleetingness of these moments, I also know that I will have so many more meaningful moments to treasure in my life. It's not a depression that I feel, that I am losing something, never to be felt again; it's an appreciation for what I have been fortunate enough to gain, to learn, to receive. And I have been very fortunate.
I had three of my Japanese friends, Keiji, Hiromi and Eiki, over tonight. It was great - entertaining and light - until one of them said something that got to me. Keiji is a calligraphist and wanted to teach me how to write genki - my character. (It means anything from healthy to energetic to lively to cheerful.) It was fun and it was nice to experience the concentration and attention to detail that is so integral to everything quintessentially Japanese. I asked Keiji to write genki on one of the lovely cards they'd got me and then asked that all three choose a character to write on another board for me, so there'd be three words or phrases with all of their names on it.
Hiromi went first and wrote nakama or friend. Eki went next and wrote ichi go ichi e, which his dictionary translated as a once in a lifetime chance, but I asked him to explain the meaning of the kanji, focussing on the individual meanings of the kanji. It's the old Japanese way of thinking, that every moment is here just once. One chance. One encounter; one opportunity. That's how I feel about everything, which is why I'm always so affected by my surroundings. This moment will never be here again. These moments shared with truly wonderful people from now on will exist only in my mind. This moment must be cherished for it is here only once.
I was trying not to think about all of that, fighting my natural tendencies, but couldn't do it. It just got to me. You know - when something hits you like an arrow, pierces your facade, tears away that protective layer and exposes exactly what you were trying to hide. I just started crying. I really felt ichi go ichi e in that moment. I understand the transience of life. I understand that I have to live this moment to the best of my ability because it will never be here again. It's a part of my make-up that I realise this in the moment, instead of afterwards. Nostalgia is usually felt about the past or a different place, but I feel it for the moment, too. Time is like water, slipping through my fingers. Ephemeral, fugacious, evanescent. Why are these words so beautiful that describe something so agonising?
Keiji then wrote two kanji for me to choose from. He asked me which one I liked better. I asked what they meant and he wouldn't tell me. I chose the more complicated one because it represented how I felt about Japan: I appreciated its complexity, the artfulness of it; the fact that the brush struggles to hold enough ink to paint all the strokes; that the last strokes, though just as important, are not as bold; that I could probably never write it beautifully... It turns out that I chose ai or love. So I've got a collection of three wonderful sentiments - friendship, appreciating the moment and love - from three wonderful people.
As much as I focus on the fleetingness of these moments, I also know that I will have so many more meaningful moments to treasure in my life. It's not a depression that I feel, that I am losing something, never to be felt again; it's an appreciation for what I have been fortunate enough to gain, to learn, to receive. And I have been very fortunate.