The skies of Japan seemed to changed me, for it was bewitching
I felt that I was walking in a wonderland. I seldom exchanged my thoughts to the sky, hoping someone will hear it. Why am I here? What in the world will I do after this?
Those questions are what drove my feet to Fukushidai Mae Station. It was a solo travel: just me, my luggage, and some mingling feelings full of uncertainty. The train shot through Fukushima, riding the rails in the most southern parts of Honshu, passing the coastal winds of Shizuoka. I walked outside Hamamatsu station, welcomed by the red sky and slight chatters from some students going home from school. After taking a prayer on the quiet side of the platform, I went inside for a bowl of soba.
I reached Hiroshima on 3rd Day, after waltzing in the temples of Kyoto with a friend from Osaka. I stayed in a hostel in Heiwa Doori (Street of Peace) and shared rooms with several backpackers. The sky in Hiroshima seemed larger than the skies of Sendai. It captured my gaze a billion times when I walked through Miyajima, the quirky Island home to many deers and gods.
It was a bliss. I did not have a clue that the adventurous joy and the fact that I was ‘alone’ came to an equilibrium and gave birth to a new synchronized sensation. A feeling of being me.
It was the first time of my life that I have felt so calm, as though the only person in this world who knows me is myself
Strolling in the Hiroshima Memorial Park was the peak of the state of peace that was running through my mind. Perhaps being in this state will ease me in answering my questions. Perhaps.
I left Hiroshima shedding some tears from the story of Sadako. She was a little girl radiated by the nuclear bomb that made 1000 cranes in her deathbed, always hoping for peace. Her story gave me some strength in continuing my journey.
Northern Kyoto taught me about solitude, and warmth
My last stop before going home was Amano Hashidate, literally meaning ‘The Bridge to Heaven’. Unpredicted circumstances made me arrive in the destined station at around 8 PM. There were barely people walking down the streets. After asking the ways to the bridge from an old man in Daily Yamazaki, I cautiously walked through the black night, to the entrance of the sandbar connecting two Islands in Northern Kyoto. The hostel was across the other Island, so there was no choice for me except to cross the 3.6 km sandbar.
The path of Amano Hashidate was so dark that I could barely see the glimpse of the street lights implanted through the sandbar. I was afraid that I would die due to fatigue, stabbed by a wanted convict or gulped down by some sort of sea monster. It was not going as smooth as my itinerary, and it was quite distressful. Having arrived at the other side, I quickly readjusted my senses and after some hurdles, I successfully took a hot bath in the hostel.
I had been walking by myself, trying to find the answers whilst asking the skies. It was not enough. Treading the bridge of heaven that night would be futile without the voices of the indigenous people that resided there.