Spring is coming in the 'Land of the Rising Sun'

Japan has been on my mind these past few weeks, not just because of the twin disasters that hit it like a sledgehammer, but also because of the certainty that, like the sun, Japan will rise again. It is, after all, the Land of the Rising Sun, and its rulers were once believed to be descendants of the Sun Goddess Amaterasu.

Soon, the Japanese will be on a high noon again, their power plants humming, their bridges and buildings rebuilt. One life lost is one too many, and Japan has lost over 10,000 to the earthquake and the tsunami. In the years to come, maybe more lives  hopefully not  will be lost to radiation exposure.

But just like Hong Kong has bounced back after the SARS contagion, Bangkok after the airport takeover and the red shirts riot, Phuket and the Maldives after the tsunami of 2004, Japan will rise again.

After the winter of its despair, spring will come again for Japan. After the darkness of night and rampaging sludge and heaving roads, the light of the rising sun will cast its glow on Japan again.

What makes other countries bounce back  some steadily, some slowly, but almost always surely  after a disaster, man-made or natural? Resilience is an overused word, but it is the spring that tugs us back to our feet after we fall. Filipinos are resilient, too, but why are we taking so long to recover from the many disasters (natural and man-made) that have visited us after World War II?

It is because what plagues us is insidious and chronic. Our ills are not alleviated by strong medicine or drastic surgery. The gangrene in our system, like corruption, is so pervasive, only painful amputation can save us from it.

We have to amputate that rotting part of our system, that part where palakasan, kanya-kanya, instant gratification and corruption fester unabated. A President hell-bent against corruption is in office, and he needs our support. We shouldn’t dull the blade that severs corruption from our system. Otherwise, we’d still be refugees long after Japan has recovered from the earthquake and tsunami of 2011.

In the meantime, I’d like to share with you an ode to Japan written by SGV executive Marlu Villanueva Balmaceda, who lived for two years (1992-1993) there when her husband Joey was doing his post-doctoral research in Math in the Kyushu University in Fukuoka.

 I can already feel the “spring” she is talking about blossoming in her Japan.

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Sadness is not apt enough a word to capture the deep sorrow I now feel for the Japanese people. As the entire world mourns with the bereaved nation, I cannot help but recall the brief interlude when we lived in Japan  a country both richly endowed and cursed by nature.

It was in Japan where I learned to appreciate deeply the natural world from the ephemeral beauty of a solitary pink petal from a sakura (cherry blossom) that lands on my lap to the grandeur of a mountain draped with tangerine-hued maples in autumn. Flowers were timed and themed with the seasons  dainty plum blossoms in winter, boisterous azaleas in spring, refreshing irises in summer and in the fall, the fragrant chrysanthemums as big as the moon.

Komyozenji Temple in the spring.

I so miss the clean air that fills my lungs as I ride my bicycle along pathways lined with poplars. We lived in a place called Kashii (pronounced CASHY with a soft long “e” sound) and I like saying its name over and over and over again because it resembles the sound of the soft wind that would set off the chimes dangling from my open window.

The ocean was a mere five-minute ride on my bike or a 15-minute brisk walk from home where we could hop from rock to rock towards a lone torii (temple gateway) planted close to the beach. The graceful tsuru (Japanese cranes) owned the shore and I was always mindful not to disturb their solitude. It is said that they can live to a thousand years.

In the summertime I would eagerly await nightfall just so I could listen to cicadas performing their concertos. Laughing children with their little handheld nets would run on our narrow street to catch dragonflies by day and fireflies at night. A block away from our house was a shrine that was home to hundreds of turtles in a pond.  There I would go to watch them, one on top of another, stretching out their necks to catch some sunshine. So in tune was I with nature that even the insolent droning of mosquitoes became tolerable.

But, for me, the best season of all was aki  autumn  when there is crispness in the air and the world becomes bronze, as if everything was transformed into tender sepia tones.  There is only one place I would like to return to before I die  Komyozenji  and it has to be in autumn. 

Komyozenji Temple is a short walk from the more popular Dazaifu Tenmangu, a shrine where thousands of students go on pilgrimage to pray that they pass entrance examinations.  While the shine has its unique attractions such as the poetry writing festival in the winter, it is this quiet temple that I consider my most favorite spot in the world. 

It is a small universe with creeping moss to represent land and tiny swirling white stones as the sea.  In autumn it becomes a painter’s canvass with yellows, oranges, greens and reds splashing against the indigo sky. The zen gardens evoke tranquility, harmony and love. You can just sit there for hours on end forgetting that reality exists outside its walls.

The last time that we were there was when Benjamin turned four years old when we took him to Fukuoka to meet his godmother and all our other friends. How much of it he recalls is insignificant. What matters is that we had taken him to a place that has given us so much inner peace. The blessedness of Komyozenji is meant to be shared with loved ones.

On that note, I wish to share the Komyozenji that has remained in my heart with the Japanese people, our Filipino migrants in Japan and everyone else who has been affected by the catastrophic earthquake of March 11.  While it was nature’s wrath that may have caused this tragedy, I know that it will also be nature that will heal it over time. Soon, haru (spring) will come upon Komyozenji and the hardy cosmos flowers will blanket fields in white and magenta signifying new life. Soon, new life will replace the despair in my Japan.