Hanami (花見)

Hanami (花見): the traditional Japanese custom of viewing and celebrating the cherry blossoms. 

A celebration of something so simple, but one full of meaning. A symbol of spring that is enjoyed for a brief window of time; the welcoming of joy and happiness in the purest form. And as I welcome these blossoms back after a long winter and watch their buds begin to bloom, I catch myself getting lost in my thoughts, wondering how a brief window of enjoyment almost feels too literal now. 

The cherry blossoms are blooming amidst instability and fear. A somewhat tumultuous world may not be uncommon, but the current unpredictability and uncertainty are making it hard for any of us to find solid ground.

The environment is brutal, it always has been. But now, we are bordering on dangerous. 

Our world is burning, both literally and metaphorically. Some play with fire regardless of the risks, others add more fuel to the fire; many of us are trying to tame the flames before it becomes too late. And yet, we are all still expected to perform well, thrive under pressure, live because we can. But truthfully, we are trying to find our ways to survive. We brace ourselves for the unknown, trying to rely on what we do know. We have become one with the cherry blossoms; trying to live through an unrelenting time. 

The beauty of cherry blossoms cannot mask the deafening noise of anger. Amidst the hustle of bustling city life or the quiet, misunderstood towns, the protests about important matters and/or emotions running high far too often end with us being told to sit down, shut up, and behave. Our voices are ours; a gift, a privilege, a weapon, a power. But as the cherry tree branches become more abundant in their leaves and blossoms, our abundance of voices and advocacy are diminishing. This is not a new challenge, we have been silenced before on many different occasions over a lifetime. 

But now we find ourselves fighting in a world that tells us we do not matter; we are advocating for the validation of our cultures, identities, and life stories. We find ourselves repeating the same mantra told by generations before us: we are human too. A statement that crosses ever-growing divides, but connects all of us. Our foundation runs deep like the roots of these trees, our communities stem from the same place. A simple message, but an easy one to get lost amongst unethical changes. 

Wishes for aesthetic picnics under pastel pinks and whites, family bonding with the subtle scents of cherry, vanilla, and almond wafting, romantic moments while petals delicately fall. Snapshots of wonder, masterpieces amidst the darkness. Feelings of euphoria are hard to come by now; fear has a tight grip on all of our minds. For just a few moments, the subtle breeze feels refreshing rather than cold, the blue sky is clear as it can be, the butterflies in my stomach are from giddiness rather than nerves.

For now, we are lucky. 

I worry that our luck may run out one day. 

And if that time comes, I am terrified that I may be too weak. I aim to stand firm on my ground, but if the magnitude of our personal, global earthquake continues to grow, the world may just collapse right under me. I’m terrified that if there ever is a direct pressure pushing me towards major balancing games, will my own morals and dreams be strong enough to ensure I don’t crumble? I’m afraid that I may not be, even the most delicate breeze can blow the cherry blossom petals away. 

I watch helplessly as the fallen flowers get stepped on, the colors fading through the wear-and-tear of consistent destruction. It was not their fault for falling off the blossoms, it’s just a natural part of the process. But for us, our minds are not as easily persuaded. We lead with both our hearts and minds; thoughts and emotions are far more intertwined than we may want to admit. If our decisions hurt us or our loved ones further, if those we care about have to suffer from the painful aspects of our world, we only see the delicacy in them. They are the petals to our own blossom: fragile by itself, beautiful and alive together, cohesive as one. And if one falls, the blossom can still go on, but it’s not quite the same. And while we are maybe quicker to admit we cannot salvage fallen petals to become a blossom, I wonder if the savior complex will come out for one another. Ensuring everyone is heard and taken care of during this complicated time, while we try to keep it all together.  

In an odd way, there is a newfound appreciation for this time; a reminder to allow ourselves happiness in a tumultuous time. We cannot pretend, but we shouldn’t repress either. The cherry blossoms are finite, yet taking a moment to enjoy them feels wrong. Ignorance may be bliss, but can that truly be afforded now? 

But I know temporary doesn’t always hold a negative meaning. Temporary may lead to cherishing the here and now, not taking for granted what we may have, understanding that time may be oddly working with us sometimes. 

The cherry blossoms may be temporary, but the love I have for them is everlasting. Something to look forward to every year, a reminder that good things can always happen, a motivation to keep going until they return again. 

The French had long-ago coined la vie en rose: life in pink to signify happiness. So as I walk under the blossoms, with the gentle warmth of sunlight embracing me, maybe I’ll let the palettes of soft pinks and whites cloud over my judgment. 

And maybe for the brief window of time, hanami and the sakura can be the only things on my mind; happiness for the mind, heart, and soul.

Author: Anonymous

Editors: Alisha B., Luna Y.

Image source: Nichika Sakurai, Unsplash