I really was losing hope in ever falling in love with Japan. I can tolerate it; there are times where I’m even enjoying it… but never in love with it.
Tonight, we chose to skip joining the masses as they walked toward the Tanabata Festival near our base and go somewhere a little less frequented by people.
From what I understand, in Japan, lanterns festivals are held to honor a loved one who had passed over. I know nothing else, but I’m happy to fill in the blanks with my own fanciful wishes:
The sun is just dipping below the mountainous horizon, casting a rosy glow over everything- the water, my skin, the sky. Quite appropriate, if you ask me. Men, women, and children gather, light their candles inside their lanterns, and stand in a line winding down toward the shallow, meandering river.
A group of men and women begin singing. Their melodies might as well be mixed right in with the water rushing over rocks in the river, they blend so perfectly together. Their voices rise and fall with the small waves and I don’t know what they’re singing about, but I think it must be a message of their love, their intent to always remember and tell stories.
I stand in the middle, eager to catch the best glimpse of the lanterns on their way toward me. Dragon flies dip and dive all around me; I count one, two, three, four, five… to many to keep track. And for a moment, I imagine they are kissing the little lights, offering their farewells, or small blessings upon each flickering memorial as it floats past.
I am perfectly happy in this place, in my element. Cool water cooling me off, feet first. My camera responding to my flexing finger, capturing images, keeping time with my eyes; little candles bumping against my legs as they travel downstream.
Men, volunteers, stand beside me watching over each lantern; they turn over rocks too large for a lantern to pass by; they upright the toppled ones, guide the lost ones. For a moment, I am half-tempted to abandon my camera and help keep the lights safe. They, each of them, are someone’s heart, someone’s memory. Someone’s friend.
Without warning or expectation, lanterns are gently offered to us. I communicate my gratitude as clearly as I am able as I take my place in the line, and I remember my Grandma. And my friend Cameron. They’re the only two people relatively close to me who are gone. I hope they’re in a good place, happy. This lantern festival draws out from me an appreciation I’ve never felt before. I wish I could always honor those I miss in the same way: sunsets, songs, and light.
Tonight, I am in love with Japan.
<3
