As soon as we left our motel the following morning, it was clear that both domestic and international media were all over the city. We ourselves were even stopped and interviewed while on our way to the It’s Not Just Mud house by Fuji TV, who asked for our reflections as part of the network’s 3.11 coverage. While I certainly didn’t mind sharing my thoughts, it did seem a bit as if the reporter was scoping for sound bites rather than looking for an honest and heartfelt assessment.After a quick reunion at INJM headquarters with friends whom we had not seen since earlier in the winter, we set off to our assignment for the day. Our job was to help do odd jobs at a kimono shop run by an elderly couple in the shopping arcade area near the train station, which had sustained severe damage from the tsunami. The shop had begun doubling as a community hub of sorts following the disaster, with individual- and group-based volunteers gathering to hold meetings and just share tea, snacks, and one another’s company.Leading the day’s volunteer work at the shop were the members of Ishinomaki 2.0, a dynamic initiative focused upon rebuilding the city through grassroots-level architectural and cultural projects including a design laboratory, a traveling arts market, a community guest house facility, a café powered by solar energy, a bar, a traveling restaurant event series, and more. Sheila and I were asked to paint some shelves and assemble some furniture that the project members had brought for the kimono shop’s community space, and while we worked, a steady stream of university students and other volunteers came in and out of the shop to work on other tasks.
Left: Blackboards for the community space at the kimono shop, which we were asked to paint
Right: Handcrafted wooden tables at the headquarters of the Ishinomaki 2.0 project, located across the street from the kimono shop
The staff at the kimono shop had no plans to attend any of the several memorials taking place around the city at 2:46 PM—the moment the earthquake struck—saying they would instead participate in a candlelight ceremony later that night to honor the souls of the departed. I also learned here that some local residents indeed felt skeptical toward the news media. During our lunch break, where a big group of us had gathered for delicious, steaming bowls of curry-flavored udon noodles, several people were commenting dryly on the sudden influx of hordes of media, with one resident noting the questionable taste of the reporter delivering a newscast while standing atop a mound of tsunami rubble.
Sheila and I had decided to join a call from members of the spiritual community to observe the one-year mark through meditative prayer, and so we excused ourselves at around 2:30 PM in order to find a quiet spot. We ended up in the public space in front of the train station, and as we sat in silent reflection, we heard the same siren ring throughout the city’s loudspeaker system at 2:46 PM that had warned residents of the coming tsunami one year earlier. It was a surreal feeling to say the least, particularly as the weather was warm and sunny in contrast to the cold and snowy temperatures that had tragically accompanied the tsunami the previous year. With people walking around, drinking and eating in cafés, in fact, it would have been easy to pretend that no tragedy had ever struck the city at all.
In front of Ishinomaki station, around 3:30 PM, March 11, 2012
When we stopped in a sporting goods store on our way back to the kimono shop to speak with an older couple we had met on one of our previous visits, I pointed out the good fortune of the shop not having sustained much visible damage. In response, the woman simply pointed toward her heart. “Yes, there is damage,” she said. “It’s here.”
One of the regular volunteers at It’s Not Just Mud whom we had met for the first time that morning, psychological nurse Anna Swain, is now working to address this sort of hidden pain that continues one year later among those who experienced the disaster. An American who was born and raised in Tokyo, Anna returned from the United States shortly after 3.11, and now travels around Ishinomaki on her bicycle offering counseling to local residents who ask for her support. “Sometimes, it’s just not enough to say “ganbatte!” (“hang in there!”) to a seven year-old who has just lost absolutely everything,” she observed. “Although it’s often not recognized here as such, post-traumatic stress disorder is certainly present among some survivors.”
After finishing up our afternoon volunteer work, we headed together with the kimono shop staff and volunteers to attend the evening candlelight ceremony. Everyone was invited to write messages on dove-shaped balloons, which would then be sent upward into the sky. “On this day one year ago, many of us were unable even to say goodbye to our loved ones,” the event organizer said softly just before the balloons were released. “With these balloons, we send the thoughts and words that we were never able to say to them.”
At this point, I had begun to once again feel that we truly did not belong here at this ceremony together with people who had experienced such profound loss and grief. Just then, however, the woman from the kimono shop came over and stood very close to us. Sheila and I both told each other later that it seemed she felt comforted by our presence, and that as all three of us cried, we both had to suppress the desire to hug her or at least put our arm around her. With physical touching rarely taking place in Japan, however, particularly among people of her generation, we had both held back and simply sent her strong thoughts of love and strength.
Below: Candles, before and after dusk, with messages received from residents of Yokohama City for the 3.11 remembrance ceremony
We made our way back to the shop after the ceremony to pick up our things, passing by several makeshift altars along the way that had been set out along the streets with candles and small canes of bamboo. A Buddhist monk was sitting in front of one of them lighting incense and chanting, presumably to comfort the souls of the dead. After being invited to pray, I joined others in pinching a fingerful of incense and bringing it to my forehead three times in succession, trying to send deep comfort to the souls of both the departed and the loved ones they had left behind. (Kanagawa-based blogger Ruthie Iida explores related topics in her deeply poignant essay “Tsunami Damage: Living with Ghosts and Spirits”).
Shortly thereafter, as we made our way to the bus to return to Tokyo, a light snow began to fall, gradually picking up and covering the ground with a freezing slush. I knew that this had to have been bringing people more painful memories, due to the snowfall that had compounded their suffering the previous year. As we pulled away from the city, it was this sense of deep empathy for their continuing sense of loss and pain, together with the warmth of the goodbye/see you again soon that we had just shared with everyone at the kimono shop, that settled in a strangely poignant combination inside my heart that would remain for days to come.
Text: Kimberly Hughes
Photos: Sheila Souza
Kimberly Hughes is a Tokyo-based freelance translator, writer, and university lecturer. She blogs at http://kimmiesunshine.wordpress.com and http://tenthousandthingsfromkyoto.blogspot.com