Tears welled up as I tried to blink them back. My fingers instinctively reached to wipe them away as I struggled to take a deep breath and continued walking through the panels with my audio guide. I heard sniffling around me. Good thing it was dark in there. The exhibits and glass display cabinets were the only items that were illuminated by the spotlights. Good thing it was dark in there so no one could see how emotionally affected some of us were, distraught by the images portraying the ravages of war and mass destruction by nuclear weapons. I grew up learning in history class about Little Boy and Fat Man. They were the two atomic bombs carried by the B-29 bomber planes, and dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, on August 6 and August 9 in 1945, respectively. I learnt about the Japanese Occupation in Singapore from 1942 to 1945. I have seen accounts shared by people who had experienced and seen the brutal acts by the military police (kenpeitai 憲兵隊), striking bayonets through the bodies of babies. Life was harsh during that period of time until the end of Japanese Occupation, when the Japanese surrendered. It was a painful memory for my grandparents. Through their eyes, the period under the Japanese colonial rule was like a nightmarish scar that they don't even want to talk about since it is history anyway. Japan felt almost like a taboo subject that I didn't know how to bring it up to my grandmother until I had to pluck up my courage to talk to her about my decision to live and work in Japan. As a child, I naively thought that the atomic bombs that brought mass destruction and havoc to the lives of the people at that time saved us from the torture. If not for the atomic bombs, the Japanese Occupation might have continued for an indeterminate period. We were freed from the colonialists, the imperialists then. However, what I knew and understood from the textbooks was the extremely myopic view of the entire situation. What I failed to consider was the loss of innocent human lives, no matter which country they were from. Prior to my trip to Hiroshima, I picked up Ishibumi 碑, a documentary account of the deaths of the 321 students and 4 teachers from the Hiroshima Middle School (released by the Hiroshima Television Corporation) and Black Rain (written by Ibuse Masuji) from the library in Sanda. I hoped to gain a better insight and understanding of all that had happened, from the creation of firebreaks in response to the air raids beginning in 1944 to the period of recovery and restoration after the bombs. It was heart-wrenching going through pages of the memoirs when slim chances of survival gave in to silent deaths as their bodies succumbed to the exhaustion and suffered from the burns. The students who were mobilised for war efforts died a few days after the bomb in the company of their loved ones. It must have been so agonising for their family members. Also, there were parents who never found their children with their locations unknown and the extent of mass destruction and debris too much to bear. Those who survived were plagued with radiation sickness that made living unbearable. Going through the artefacts in the Hiroshima Peace Memorial museum gave me a more holistic understanding of the atomic bombs that fell in Japan. It was sombre coming across sobering scenes of the tattered student soldier uniforms, severely burnt bento boxes, photographs of people suffering from radiation sicknesses, as well as the degree of devastation resulted from the 'mushroom cloud' and the subsequent 'black rain.' My heart sank when I thought about how anyone could even harbour the thought of using nuclear weapons in the first place. It was a terrible, incomprehensible thought put into action. It was unbelievable discovering that the dropping of the bombs in these two cities was planned, strategised in order to "magnify the effects of the blast" based on city size and topography. I stood in front of the Atomic Dome across the riverbank. This structure used to be the Hiroshima Prefectural Industrial Promotion Hall before the atomic bomb struck Hiroshima city, its hypocenter approximately 160m southeast from the building. Now, the structural remnants of the building stand erect in the heart of Hiroshima, a stark reminder to the entire world about the horrific tragedies of the atomic bomb and a symbol of global peace. Let peace prevail in the world, please.
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While walking along the canals in Omi-Hachiman, Shiga Prefecture, I was reminded of the time spent exploring the waterways in Giethoorn, in the Netherlands years ago. Was it because of the houses that stood along the canals? Was it because of the bridges that connected one side of the canal to another? Was it also because I chanced upon a flock of migratory birds in both places, albeit at different periods in time? Or, was it the sight of boats docked on the bank that tugged at my memories? Despite the subtle similarities, it is apparent that both towns are also significantly different from each other. I was interested in finding out more so I did a wee bit of research, and now I hope to share with you the differences in terms of their cultures and histories, as well as the meaning behind their names. 1. Geographical differences Firstly, the Netherlands is comprised of primarily low-lying, flat land with almost 25% of its land at, or below sea level. The word, 'nether' aptly describes the landforms of the Netherlands. There were also vast pastures of land I saw in Giethoorn during the time I was there. The old town of Omi-Hachiman, on the other hand, has a castle constructed in 1585 on the top of Mount Hachiman (286m) by Toyotomi Hidetsugu, the nephew of Toyotomi Hideyoshi. The mountain is situated right next to Lake Biwa, the largest freshwater lake in Japan. 2. Origins of their names Giethoorn A significant number of goat horns were discovered in Giethoorn as a result of the goats who did not survive during the St. Elisabeth's great flood in 1170. Thus, the initial name Geytenhorn given, literally meant ‘Goat horns’. After some time, the name was adapted and it is now known as Giethoorn. Omi-Hachiman, 近江八幡 Omi 近江 is the former name of Shiga Prefecture, but my interpretation is also that it is near Lake Biwa based on the kanji characters 近 (near / close) and 江 (river / bay). In addition, Omi province suffered from the effects of territorial expansion and control when provinces were warring against each other in the midst of the 15th century. As a protector of Japan against foreign invasion, Hachiman 八幡 is often prayed to as one of the primary Shinto kami, or also known as divine spirit or god. Hachiman is seen to be the God of War and Military Arts, serving as a guide to assist warriors in achieving mastery of their skills in order to protect their own land. I believe this may probably be the significance and meaning behind its name, 近江八幡. 3. Historical and cultural background In the past, the landscape in Giethoorn consisted of primarily high moor peat and woods. Peat mining was prevalent because it was traditionally used as a fossil fuel to generate heat and electricity. As the peat were dug, holes underneath emerged and they gradually developed into canals. These canals then functioned to transport peat between places. The canal area of Omi-Hachiman was originally excavated to function as both a moat to protect the castle and as a transportation route to connect the town to Lake Biwa, making use of its network of waterways that linked the Sea of Japan coast with Kyoto. Omi-Hachiman was also part of the Nakasendo highway 中山道, the ancient trading route between Tokyo (then Edo) and Kyoto, so it was an important access point for boats and ships carrying goods for commercial trade. 4. My memory associations to these towns
Maybe it was because it has been 6 years since I visited Giethoorn that my memory is failing me. It did not occur to me to learn more about its history then. I needed to do more research to understand Giethoorn better. Unfortunately, the only memory I have now is the vibrant colors of the houses dotted along the canals, transporting me back into Enid Blyton’s whimsical fairytale settings that I grew up reading in my primary school days. The old and rustic charm of the houses standing along the canals in Omi-Hachiman led me to think of Japan steeped in its feudal, cultural and historical roots going all the way back to the Edo period. Now, the area is a preserved district made up of old merchant houses converted into shops and restaurants. There is a Hachiman shrine, known as Himure Hachimangu shrine, that the town is named after. I love how exploring new places lead me to find out more about their history and culture. It's funny how I never took interest in learning about them when I was younger, but now I have discovered another side of myself and I cherish all these bits and pieces of information that come along through these adventures. With the arrival of winter, I think back about all that I had done last winter. For someone who has lived in a tropical country almost her entire life, winter is a season that I struggle to deal with as much as I love witnessing and experiencing snowfalls. Well, we know that snowfalls don't happen often, or at least in this part of Japan I am staying in. This winter, I hope to engage in more creative pursuits. I am currently embarking on The Sketchbook Project, creating illustrations based on thoughts that I want to convey from what I have experienced during my time here. (I am really excited about it! It is a mini project that I decided to work on, to occupy myself more meaningfully this winter.) I will push myself to go on photography trips even when it is cold outside and my fingers are going to end up freezing. I will also continue to write The Onigiri Stories (a collection of stories and musings that I recently started), read more and to continue seeking inspiration in different ways. So, let's start with an ode to Fall I have written about my favorite season and photographs I have taken in the last month of leaf-peeping. Nature's watercolors A month was all you took To show me your colors, give me hopes, ease me into the transitions from summer to fall and from fall to winter To prepare me to embrace the emotional states the physiological changes that will occur inside A whirlwind of feelings, experiences come hitting me like a block of ice Cold and hard Like reality that comes knocking at my door reminding me that you have left And as much as I am unwilling to part with you I should come to terms with it I like how you took your time with those color transitions Like how an artist chooses and paints from his palette of watercolors He begins with a yellow tint Then gradually experiment with them until he completes his masterpiece with a final assemblage of colors And now that the leaves have fallen The branches are bare They stare back at me empty Crestfallen, in despair with their shoulders shrugged As though to say that things cannot be helped You got to let nature take its own course They still stand tall, resolute Braving themselves even in the harshest of cold When everyone else has retreated indoors Cozy under the kotatsu, the duvet Snug and toasty The house a comfortable haven But when I look outside through the window panes I take comfort in knowing that even though you have left for now, for the time being You will return next year with your resplendent colors Nature's watercolors Like how you always do Two weeks ago, I went on a hiking trip to Kamikochi to chase the colours of Autumn. After that, I proceeded to Nakatsugawa city, where I hiked along the Nakasendo 中山道 trail between Magome 馬籠 and Tsumago 妻籠, two post towns 宿場 that were part of the trading route connecting Edo (modern day Tokyo) and Kyoto. The main transportation network through the mountains was created by people who relied on walking (and some with their horses) to get to places, bringing with them livestock, produce and valuable items for trade in the town markets, where economic transactions primarily took place. Taking into account all that happened decades ago after reading up a little about the history of post towns, walking through Magome and Tsumago gave me a substantial context to understand their importance and functions in ancient Japan. The Nakasendo route somehow reminded me of the Kumano Kodo 熊野古道 pilgrimage route that I had gone on earlier this Spring in Wakayama Prefecture - walking through the cobble-stoned trails with the towering pine trees overhead and the pockets of sunshine filtering in through the canopy. However, what was different this time on the Nakasendo was the presence of bells and an accompanying cautionary sign that warns hikers of the existence of bears in the area. I had lost count of the number of times I rang those bells. Just in case. They gave me the confidence and a peace of mind to move ahead. While walking, I came up with a bear contingency plan. What if I were to meet one (or several) in the most unfortunate scenarios? I shall play dead and remain motionless, just like what I have learnt from movies. In any case, I do know this: never stare at them in the eye or try to attack them first. Well, if there is something I am really afraid of now while hiking in the wilderness, it's coming in close encounter with bears. I will actually consider buying a bear bell now for future hiking trips through the woods. Walking from Magome to Tsumago, a 7.7km mostly downhill stretch, I passed by several houses that were emptied out, or left vacant and unoccupied. Abandoned properties. How long have they been left abandoned? Where did their previous residents go to? Have they moved closer to the big cities like neighboring Nagoya or Matsumoto in search of better job prospects, or for the sake of convenience and accessibility? Most houses in the area function as ryokans (or guesthouses) for people who would like to stay for a night or two. Some double up as soba restaurants (Nagano is famous for its soba, buckwheat noodles 蕎麦) and gift shops selling traditional souvenirs that reflect Nakasendo's feudal and historical roots. I came across a duck pen, several storage sheds that housed cut wood probably in preparation for burning to generate heat in the coming winter months. I saw patches of vegetation grown on small family plots surrounding the farmhouses scattered in and in the proximity of the post towns.
I arrived in Tsumago when the sun was about to set at close to 4 and was hit with a sudden realisation. Early sunsets make me flustered because I lose track of my sense of time. There is also a kind of indescribable anguish growing inside about the things I wish I could do given more daylight. Nights spent indoors become unbearably long and can sometimes be unproductive. Nevertheless, I am going to embrace Autumn now while it lasts. Summer time in Japan
Spells moments of fun in the sun Of beach activities Festivals and fireworks Ice cream and kakigori Walking around in yukata Listening intently To the sound of geta clapping Hopping from onsen to onsen In a bid to cool down at each one I see families bathing together Children playing with the pails An intimacy with their mothers Before and after they enter It’s the steaming water bath where they let loose and relax together with their laughter Summer is a time When the sound of wind chimes Has that healing power To release the heat from our hearts Blow it away, further away The tingling sensations Lifting our spirits Making our moods lighter There are times when The summer fever Leaves me heading indoors Craving for a refresher Taking breaks more often Relishing the ordinary moments Reading, resting Drinking, eating In the heat of summer Seeking respite and company From familiar strangers I look out of the windows At the passing trees Whose crowns have turned Transitioned Into orange tinges And with the passing of time Become a sea of maple reds I can almost feel it Fall is coming The wind is chilly Around the edges of September And I am looking forward For Fall promises its colors |
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